


Sanest Thing I’ve Ever Done

by aban_asaara



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Romance, Ultimate Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2019-10-06 05:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aban_asaara/pseuds/aban_asaara
Summary: “I should be the one to kill it,” Alistair says.





	Sanest Thing I’ve Ever Done

**Author's Note:**

> [Sasskarian](sasskarian.tumblr.com) asked for "kisses because I don’t want you to go and maybe I can convince you to stay just a few minutes longer" for Alistair/f!Warden
> 
> *dodges fruit*

Denerim is burning.

Denerim is _burning_ , and the stone spires of Fort Drakon rumble with the ear-splitting roars of the Archdemon and the thunder of the Darkspawn horde, yet she can’t part her lips from his, because the space between their mouths is the only place left in the world that’s not tainted by this nightmare, because otherwise he will speak and she doesn’t want to hear another word.

He kisses her, hard, in a mess of clanging metal and snagging leather, his embrace tight around her until his fingers curl around her shoulders and hold her back. She tries to rise up on tiptoes again but he’s too strong for her, keeping her in place without effort. All that strength, and yet he’s never hurt her, except—

Except _now_. “I should be the one to kill it,” Alistair says, and all the arrows, all the spells, all the cuts and swipes and blows of the past year are nothing compared to those few words.

Her hands fumble for a grip on the polished steel of King Cailan’s armour. She realises, idly, that she is crying, hot tears searing their way down her face. “ _No_ ,” she says, and it comes out a sob, “ _no_ ,” and it’s all she can say, because one year out of the Circle was too short a time to taste freedom, to smell the crisp, cold air of the Frostbacks and feel frosted grass crunch underfoot in the morning, to find love and friendship over mugs of ale and too-strong tea by the campfire and lose it all to a curse that came millennia before her, to the corruption blackening her blood.

“I can’t let you die,” he continues, barely above a whisper, “not if I can do something about it.”

Her throat is knotted too tight for even a simple “no” to make it past her lips now, so she presses them to his, again and again, until at last she finds her voice again, stretched thin under the leaden weight of her heart. “Alistair, this is madness,” she says, the words thick and tear-wrung. It should be her. It should be _her_ , because what’s another mage next to the only living scion of the great Calenhad’s bloodline?

(Because how is she meant to go on after this?)

He curls one finger under her chin, parts their mouths so that she has to look at him. He looks old beyond his years all of a sudden, sorrow tugging at the corner of his brown eyes, but there’s no fear in them: just tempered-steel determination, steadfast and hard, and she knows she will be powerless to change his mind. “Sanest thing I’ve ever done,” he says, threading one hand through her hair as he kisses her again. Then he grins, the same offhand, easy grin that’s been sending warmth flooding her belly since those early days at Ostagar.

Alistair adjusts his grip on the leather straps of his shield, takes his sword, then starts up the stairs leading to the rooftop of Fort Drakon.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [Tumblr](https://aban-asaara.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
